


Godsend

by TerribleAndSadThings



Series: Godsend [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 20:31:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12140544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerribleAndSadThings/pseuds/TerribleAndSadThings
Summary: "For false Christs and false prophets will arise and will show great signs and wonders, so as to mislead, if possible, even the elect." -Matthew 24:24





	Godsend

**Author's Note:**

> First fic. The NV fandom is severely lacking. Especially in the Joshua Graham and Ulysses front. Gonna try to remedy that. Only like 7 years late. Pfffft.
> 
> Disclaimer: I edited the dialogue between Joshua and the Courier from the game to better suit my purposes. Also took some liberties with the theological interpretations of the bible verses.

“I’m the Courier,” he introduced himself with a smile, much too happy, much too wide for having watched his entire caravan slaughtered no more than an hour before. “Courier Six if we’re gettin’ specific.” He tossed up double finger guns, pointing at Joshua, and winked for an obnoxiously long time.

Joshua paused from his task, hands still for less than a second, before he slid the safety back on the .45 and set it aside. “You’re not the courier I expected. Then again, he wouldn’t have come with a caravan.”

Dropping his hands, the Courier tipped his head to the side, like a dog confused by a new sound. “Why? They seemed like nice people. A little less fun with their guts outside of them, but not bad.” Brow furrowed as if only recognizing the massacre for what it was now, he asked Joshua “What’s up with that, anyway? Why did the White-Legs attack us?”

“They attack everyone who isn't a White Leg, especially caravans. They don't know how to survive on their own, so they have to raid. But as for why they are here, they are trying to wipe us out. All of us. They want to join Caesar's Legion, and they can only prove their worth by destroying the New Canaanites and everyone we shelter. ”

“That’s too bad.” Sliding his hand in his pocket, the Courier glanced away. He jingled the bottle caps in his pocket as he watched the Dead Horses practice the training exercises Joshua taught them.

For a moment, Joshua thought the Courier’s remark, while callous, had been in reference to the senseless deaths of his companions, but then he looked back to Joshua, dead in the eye.

“Now I have to put a bullet in every single one of them.”

When Follows-Chalk brought the Courier to him, Joshua believed the Courier had been delivered to him by God to aid his mission. While his appearance might have been divine will, often a man’s will might not align. Joshua had been prepared to persuade or even force the Courier into assisting him in bringing an end to the White Legs that plagued Zion.

Now, looking at the Courier, the dust of the Mojave clinging to his clothes and blood long dried encrusting his nail beds, Joshua wondered if perhaps he was wrong. With the light of creation in his eyes and a smile so sweet on the sharp of his face, ready to kill their enemies without reserve, Joshua thought perhaps the Courier was not godsent at all.

As the Word of God read

 _Even him, whose coming is after the working of Satan with all power and signs and lying wonders,_ 2 Thessalonians 2:9

=

Three months went by before the Courier returned to Zion, Joshua finding him by chance a mile out from the Dead Horses’ camp, barely visible in the night. He appeared nearly indistinguishable from first time save for the line of blood that had dribbled from his temple and dried on his cheek. When he smiled at Joshua, brighter, happier, body looser, and eyes unfocused, Joshua recognized the symptoms of what could be a concussion.

“You fool,” Joshua muttered, voice rougher than he intended.

“But I’m your fool,” the Courier replied, laughter tumbling out with his words. “Didn’t you miss me? I came all the way back to see you.” From where he sat in ankle deep water, leaning against the craggy cavern wall, he peered up at Joshua with wide deceptively innocent eyes. “I missed you.”

A pain struck Joshua deep in his chest at the sincerity in the Courier’s voice, but as with most of his pains, Joshua ignored it. “Get up,” Joshua commanded, knowing to ask would lead the Courier to argue. By nature he was difficult.

“Carry me,” the Courier whined, “I’m tired.” With bloody hands, he reached up towards Joshua.

Despite himself, Joshua felt a minor surge of alarm upon realizing the blood was fresh. Crouching down, he shoved the Courier’s jacket away to inspect his side. Sure enough, blood oozed through the Courier’s ragged shirt, adding to the already dried stain. The Courier did not protest to Joshua’s attentions, though he whined wordlessly when Joshua swatted away his efforts to cling.

Joshua reached for the fraying edge of the Courier’s shirt, pausing for a moment to look to the Courier’s face, but the Courier didn’t seem to notice. He had given up his attempt to grab onto Joshua, letting his hands fall to the water, the gentle current washing the blood away. Pouting, he tipped his head back, eyes closed and sighed. Joshua watched the flutter of the Courier’s pulse under the skin of his exposed throat. Only when he dropped his head to the side and sighed again, did he look to Joshua, searching out his eyes. He smiled.

Impassive, Joshua returned his attention to the task at hand. Gently, he pulled the Courier’s shirt up to reveal the wound. The gash began under his armpit and curved over his ribs. While not appearing especially deep, the skin around it had become inflamed, darker red around the messy black stitching done by a novice’s hand. When Joshua pressed his fingers along the edge, the Courier flinched, lean muscles twitching under his touch. Although the pressure had been slight, puss leaked from the wound.

Joshua cursed.

Perturbed by Joshua’s displeased tone, the Courier attempted to wriggle from his grasp, pushing himself from the wall to struggle up. Joshua snagged him by the front of his shirt before he could fall. Twisting his fingers in the clothe, Joshua hauled the Courier to a stand and slid his arm other across the Courier’s back to support his weight, pulling him closer. Even through his bandages, Joshua could feel the heat of the Courier’s feverish skin.

“You fool,” Joshua repeated, tone even harsher than before.

Contrary to his earlier request, the Courier shoved at Joshua and tugged at his wrist in an effort to free himself from Joshua’s hold. “Lemme go,” he demanded, “I’m going away. Go away.”

“You have an infection. I’m sending for Daniel.”

Ignoring his struggle, Joshua dragged the Courier from the cavern towards camp. Under the moonlight, the pallor of his skin and the circles under his eyes became obvious. Despite how he stumbled and his increasingly labored breathing, the Courier continued his efforts to shrug Joshua off.

“I ain’t sick. Get off of me,” the Courier mumbled, turning himself into Joshua’s hold to shove off his chest, but seemed to give up, instead dropping his forehead against Joshua’s shoulder. “I’m ain't sick.”

Involuntarily, Joshua tightened his grip on the Courier’s arm. 

Shifting himself, the Courier tucked his face into Joshua’s neck and sighed. “You didn’t even miss me.”

The water of Zion flowed around them, free of radiation, as pure and untouched by the sins of the corrupt men outside as the tribes Joshua shepherded. The Courier came to Zion Canyon, pockets filled with chems and weighted dice, firing bullets with no consideration except for how many more he could shoot and what he could take from those he killed. Yet Joshua held the Courier to him.

Joshua had not allowed himself to miss the Courier, only grateful for the time in which he had him. 

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb,  
And naked shall I return there.  
The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away;  
Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

And the Lord returned the Courier unto him.

-

“I don’t know how he managed to even get here,” Daniel muttered as he examined the Courier. Despite his disapproval of their methods and the Courier’s entire way of living, Daniel agreed to tend to him, true to the lessons of kindness he taught. 

The Courier mumbled in his sleep and fidgeted, animated even at rest despite enough tranquilizers to put a yao guai down. More than once Daniel stopped his work due to the Courier’s unconscious squirming. With a practiced hand, he tied off the neat row of stitches he replaced after cutting the old and cleansing the wounds.

After wiping his hands clean, Daniel rubbed his forehead and then glanced to Joshua. Joshua did not acknowledge him, eyes still locked on the Courier.

“Joshua,”

“Daniel.”

“It’s been three months since I last saw you.”

“It would have been presumptuous to think I would be welcomed as before.”

Daniel looked down to where the Courier lie as well, his silence enough of an agreement. Then he looked to study Joshua once me. “Yet you sent for me today.”

Joshua did not answer.

Sighing, Daniel stood up. “You’re a stubborn man, Joshua Graham.”

-

The Courier held no reserves about touching. He never asked if it hurt Joshua, never seemed concerned. Sometimes when he touched Joshua, slinging an arm over his shoulders or elbowing his side, he would meet Joshua’s eyes, devilment dancing in his and a smile too sly for innocent acts. Joshua gave no reaction to this unprovoked contact, neither to dissuade or encourage the actions no other person dared. In turn, the Courier continued without pushing for more.

Until he did. 

Joshua sat by his bedroll, Scripture in hand, when the Courier stumbled over. He tossed himself to the ground beside Joshua and sighed heavily. Tucking one arm behind his head, the Courier looked up to the stars. He raised his other hand to the sky as if reaching out to touch them before dropping it to his side. He glanced to Joshua. Joshua turned a page.

Rolling over to face Joshua, the Courier sighed again. 

“Hey,”

Joshua continued with his study, but unable to ignore the scent of alcohol rolling off of the Courier.

“Hey, Joshua.” He scooched closer, raising his head. 

“Courier,”

Pleased with the smallest sign attention, the Courier sat up further and leaned in closer. “Hey, Joshua. I have a riddle for you.”

A prickle of awareness ran down the back of Joshua’s neck. He closed his Scripture and set it on the bedroll behind him. Before he could face the Courier again, the Courier’s hand shot out, grabbing Joshua by the wrist and squeezed. Joshua looked from the Courier’s hold on him to his face. A manic light lit his eyes and his lips, chewed raw, parted.

“Does it hurt when I do that?”

“No,”

His grip tightened, the strength of his hand more than his thin frame suggested. “How about that? Does that hurt?”

“Courier,” Joshua warned, the single word thick with an unspoken threat.. 

“What if I wanted to hurt you?” he whispered.

“Is that your riddle?”

The Courier blinked, as if he forgot about the riddle he mentioned moments before. Then he smiled. Releasing Joshua’s wrist, the Courier slid closer until their thighs touched. Watching as he did it, the Courier placed his hand on Joshua’s thigh, so lightly, it could be forgotten if not for every surviving nerve in Joshua going alight. Smile still in place, the Courier tipped his head back to look up at Joshua.

“Hey, Joshua, what do you do with a dog that bites?”

“Shoot it.”

One hand bracing on Joshua’s thigh and the other twisted in the fabric of his sleeve, the Courier lurched forward. Teeth sunk into the flesh below Joshua’s jaw with enough force to break through the bandages, drawing blood. Before Joshua consciously chose, he grabbed the Courier by the throat, digging his fingers in and ripping him away. With his entire body behind the action, Joshua slammed the Courier into the ground. Pinning him to the earth, Joshua pressed his hand into the Courier’s throat.

Choking as he did it, the Courier laughed. Both of his hands closed around Joshua’s as he struggled to remove the pressure from his windpipe, but still he laughed with such force his body seized under Joshua.

A thousand thoughts flew through Joshua’s mind as he strained to understand the Courier’s actions. How drunk was he? Was he sick? Poisoned? Mad? What possessed him? Only for all of the questions to vanish when the Courier’s flails turned into an upward thrust of his hips and he released a breathy moan.

“F-fuck,” he gasped, nearly inaudible between his struggles to breathe.

With a snarl of disgust, Joshua released him. Rising to a stand, he looked down at the Courier lying vulnerable and shaking. The Courier panted, shallow, quick breaths that strained his abused throat. Eyes closed, he balled his shirt in his fist, pulling the collar down as if strangled him too. Once he managed some semblance of control over his breathing, he eyes opened to meet Joshua’s.

And he laughed.

 _For such people are false apostles, deceitful workers, masquerading as apostles of Christ. And no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light._ 2 Corinthians 11:13-14


End file.
